


As You Walk On By

by starclipped



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Bullying, Clintasha - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Stucky - Freeform, The Breakfast Club - au, blatant rip off of the breakfast club, copious amounts of cursing, mentions of abuse, mentions of suicide contemplation, teenagers being mean and sweet and terrible idiots, warnings for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starclipped/pseuds/starclipped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come Monday, and every day after, they’ll find out that one fateful Saturday spent locked up in the confines of SHIELD High School has altered their lives forever. It’ll be the best thing they’ll ever know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As You Walk On By

**Author's Note:**

> [The Breakfast Club AU]
> 
> "Won't you come see about me?  
> I'll be alone, dancing, you know it, baby  
> Tell me your troubles and doubts  
> giving me everything inside and out  
> And love's strange, so real in the dark  
> Think of the tender things that we were working on  
> Slow change may pull us apart  
> When the lights get into your heart, baby  
> Don't you forget about me  
> don't, don't, don't, don't  
> Don't you forget about me"

_Dear Mr. Sitwell,_

_We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice our Saturday by spending it in detention. We know what we did was wrong. But you’re crazy for making us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us, in the simplest of terms and most convenient definitions. You see us as a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a boy scout, and a criminal. Right? And that’s how we saw each other at seven o’clock this morning. Until today, we were brainwashed._

+++++

**Saturday, March 29 th**

**SHIELD High School**

 

“Look, Steven. You’ve gotten too used to your mother’s coddling. You need some real discipline.”

Steve shifts his gaze from the clouded gray sky to glance over at his father, immaculate and stern-faced as ever.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he says for what might be the fifteenth time. “I wasn’t wrong. Schmidt was.”

Steve’s father, Joseph, sighs up towards the hood of the car. “That may be, but your particular brand of virtue isn’t always favored. Haven’t you learned that yet? You get by in this world by doing what you’re told. You stray from that path, you cause trouble, and that’s why you’re here today. Now –” Joseph Rogers reaches around to grab a brown sack from the leather seats in the back. He holds it out for his son to take, offering a pointed look to go along with it. “Go. Just toe the line, alright?”

Steve waits a beat before he grabs the lunch bag in one hand and the car door handle in the other, stepping out to his full height of 6 feet. He slams the door, shrugs his pack farther up his shoulder, and strides towards the front steps of SHIELD High without looking back.

Behind him, another car approaches, one that purrs and glistens even in the sliver of sun shining through one of the whiter clouds from high above. A middle-aged man with slicked back hair, a thin mustache, and what would’ve once been considered and uncharacteristically serious expression leans back in his seat with his hands still on the wheel. He stares at his son with nothing but disappointment in his dark, tired eyes.

“I’m tired of this, Tony. One more screw-up and we’re sending you to reform school.”

Tony rolls his eyes and uncrosses his arms, desperate to escape the expensive confines of his father’s new Mercedes.

“Tony, I’m talking to you!” his father snaps. Howard Stark’s temper rarely makes an appearance, he prefers to be cold and distant, but Tony doesn’t want to risk it. So he levels his father with a look that’s only partially acerbic.

“If you can keep my attention, I’m all ears.”

The only reprimanding he gets is a frown. “Don’t make this a habit. And do something useful while you’re in there. You need all the help you can get.”

Tony kicks the silver door shut behind him and pretends not to hear his father’s indignant clucking while he jogs towards the school’s shining double doors, sparing one peak over his shoulder as a car some feet away screeches to a halt. The horn blares at the boy swaggering in front of it, strands of hair brushing his face as the wind swirls around him. His eyes are covered by sunglasses and his hands are shoved into the pockets of his blue coat. He looks utterly unfazed.

The car that nearly hit the boy sounds the horn one more time just before a girl with short, curly red hair slowly climbs out. Her outfit is nothing but black, her large tote even redder than her hair, and when she ducks down to peer into the window on the passenger’s side, the car lurches away.

No one sees her, not even the sandy-haired kid in the van parked across the lot. He’s too busy listening to his boisterous grandfather speaking of fonder times.

“We used to do all sorts of dumb stuff. I’d be worried if you didn’t get in some trouble now and again. But this, Clint? Vandalism? That’s a little harder to come back from. What about that scholarship, huh? You’re lucky Fury didn’t kick you off the team! You know why he didn’t, don’t you? ‘Cause right now, you’re the best. And you have to keep being the best. Understand?”

“Yeah,” Clint grunts. He clears his throat to make himself better heard when he repeats it, nodding for good measure. “Yeah.”

He’s the last one inside, able to eye the backs of two other students as they disappear into the library. He pushes the door farther open before it can fully close.

Steve’s at the first table, blue shirt stretched tight from underneath a varsity jacket that’s very much like Clint’s. Tony, in his blazer and faded band t-shirt, has taken a spot at the next table in line, but not for long because the guy with the sunglasses and blue coat kicks at the chair and gestures for Tony to move. He does with an annoyed huff, though his flinch isn’t well hidden.

The red-headed girl moves all the way to the back, towards the other row of tables, and keeps her body positioned to the side so her face can’t be seen from underneath the hood she pulls up over her head.

“Hey, can I –” Clint mumbles at Steve, one hand on the chair beside him.

“Sure,” Steve replies. So Clint drops his bag, unbuttons and unzips his jacket, and plops down.

The heavy, wooden doors of the library open only seconds later, revealing Vice Principal Sitwell in all his bald glory. He’s holding several sheets of paper and a bundle of pencils in one hand, and takes a moment to pull the bolt on the door so it’ll stay wide open. He’s got a smile for the kids as he turns to face them and moves farther into the spacious room.

“Well,” he begins. There’s something like pleasure in his voice. “Look at the group we have today. So varied. The only constant, I see, is Mr. Barnes.” From behind his glasses, Sitwell levels Barnes with a stern look. “Feet off the table, sunglasses off,” he orders.

Barnes drops his legs, heavy boots thudding against the floor. “ _We’re_ in mood today…” he mutters derisively. Everyone ignores him.

“Sir?” Steve pipes up. “If I could just talk to Fury –”

“No, Rogers. Now listen up. It’s 7:10,” Sitwell continues, pausing briefly to check his watch. “That means you’re all here for 8 hours and 50 minutes. Use that time to reflect on what you did to deserve this. So –” He looks to Tony as he says, “No talking.” Then his eyes roam over towards Clint. “No moving.” Finally, his gaze settles on Barnes. “And no sleeping.” After a moment of observing, Sitwell begins to hand out the pencils and sheets of paper. “I want an essay from each of you, no less than one thousand words, describing to me who you think you are. Maybe you’ll even learn something about yourselves.”

“Perfect, sir. It’ll be the first page of my autobiography. I’ll call it: _Cheap Trick and a One Liner_.”

Tony grins and Sitwell blinks at him disdainfully. Steve shares a furtive look with Clint.

“Good luck with that, Stark. Any questions?”

A gloved hand shoots up, bare fingers waggling in the air. “I’d like to know where you got that _stunning_ tie, sir. It really compliments your soulless eyes.”

Sitwell’s smile turns tight and his eyes narrow at Barnes. “I’ll tell you next Saturday. How does that sound?”

Sitwell leaves them with a warning not to close the door and a threat of his office being right across the hall. No one so much as twitches until he’s gone.

Predictably, Barnes is the first one to break the stretch of silence by hissing an expletive. That gets Steve to whip his head around, earning a raised brow for his troubles. Steve shakes his head in disgust but doesn’t turn away, is content to have a stare-off with Barnes probably for the whole time, but an odd sound earns everyone’s attention.

All eyes dart over towards the girl in the hood, mouths falling open when they see her carving the table with a knife. She acknowledges them for nearly 5 seconds, picking up a wood shaving and flicking it at Barnes, smirking when it gets caught in his hair.

“I know you,” Barnes tells her, like a threat. “ _Natasha_.” But she goes back to scratching up the table like he hadn’t said a word.

The group sits there for ten minutes, squirming in their seats and listening to the clock tick the seconds away. They each wonder how they’ll last for nearly _nine hours_. Tony’s had enough of being both motionless and silent already, resorting to murmuring under his breath.

“Who am I? Genius Tony Stark. Future billionaire playboy…”  He feels eyes burning holes into the side of his face. Through his peripheral, he sees Barnes, so he switches tactics, starts humming instead. “ _Shoot to thrill, play to kill, too many women, too many pills, yeah…_ ”

He only stops when a crumpled sheet of paper hits his temple.

Steve sees this and shakes his head disappointedly. “This is stupid,” he breathes to himself.

But Barnes hears and snorts from behind, leaning over the table to get a look at the side of Steve’s face. “You know what else is stupid?” he asks, not waiting for an answer. “He forgot we’re human beings and need to relieve ourselves. If we’re not s’posed to move, how’re we gonna take a piss?”

Barnes grins at the way Steve clenches his jaw.

“Don’t be a pig,” Clint warns without turning an inch.

Barnes ignores him. “I guess I could go right here…”

Just the idea has Steve shifting in his chair, a spark of annoyance shining in his sea-blue eyes. “You better not,” he chastises.

Barnes’s own eyes are blue too, flecked with gray and green, and they lock onto Steve’s like it’s his mission not to look anywhere else. He reaches a hand under the table and pulls at his zipper slowly, noting the way Steve’s cheeks and ears flush pink. The sharp sound makes Clint spin around angrily.

“You whip it out and I’ll rip it off, Barnes.”

He barks out a laugh, plops his hand atop the table. “You’re kinda hot when you’re mad, Barton.” His steely eyes flick back over to Steve. “But not as hot as Mr. America over here, huh? What are you two, anyway? Always in each other’s pockets. You screwing in the back of Old Man Barton’s van?”

“Shut the hell up, jackass.”

Barnes hums and holds up his index finger. “Freedom of speech.”

“Stop!” Steve orders, voice echoing through the library. And for some reason, Barnes does. He shuts his mouth with a click and glares while Sitwell loudly demands to know what’s going on from his office across the hall.

No one answers. He doesn’t ask again.

Barnes rises from his seat after a beat, chair slamming against the table behind him, and heads over towards the railing of the onramp that leads to the bookshelves behind the librarian’s desk. Steve, Clint, and Tony all watch him hop up and sit with his legs dangling off the edge.

“We should close the door,” he announces to the group, looking at everyone but Steve. “Can’t have any fun with good ol’ Jasper babysitting, right?”

Tony rubs at the slight stubble on his chin and looks on a bit nervously, though his voice is more confident than his demeanor would suggest. “We could just leave it alone? I’m all for a little rebellion, but Sitwell’s just gonna chew us out if we shut the door on him.”

“So?”

“Why don’t you just shut up?” Clint snarls, clenching his fists in his denim-clad lap.

“Because I like hearing myself talk.”

“Yeah, you’re the only one. You’re nothing, Barnes, you know that?”

From his perch on the railing, Barnes raises his chin and stares down at Clint from over his nose, daring him to say more. He ignores the way Steve casts his eyes downward.

Clint keeps on. “No one would care if you disappeared. You might as well not even exist here.”

Barnes twists his full mouth, a hollow version of his previous smirks. “Guess I’ll just have to try out for track then. Bet I could make the wrestling team, too.”

Clint scoffs. “You wish.”

Barnes shrugs. “Or maybe I’ll go for student council. I’d be good at that, wouldn’t I, Stevie?”

Clint gives Steve a puzzled look, but he doesn’t catch it, is too preoccupied by his frustration over Barnes. “You just have to make everything a joke, don’t you.” It’s not a question. “You know why you do that?”

Barnes leans back on the railing, feet sticking straight out in the air. Gravity sweeps the longer strands of hair off his face.

“Oh, tell me, Stevie. I’m begging you.”

Steve’s stare is unyielding. “Because you’re afraid,” he states, and for the second time within a half-hour, he makes Barnes freeze.

He nearly falls off the rail trying to get upright fast enough to glower at Steve’s expression. “Did future psychologist _Sam Wilson_ teach you that when he had his tongue jammed down your throat?”

Steve goes blank momentarily, resetting. His anger is replaced by something close to cold detachment. “That’s none of your business.”

Barnes opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. He laughs mirthlessly instead.  “You’re right. But I make it my business.”

“Leave him alone, okay?” Clint cuts in, making Steve shrink in his seat. “Take a hint. No one cares what you have to say.”

“Can we talk about activities again?” Tony asks, directing the question to no one in particular. “I’m in math club.”

“And you think people care what _you_ have to say?” Barnes replies, not paying even one bit of attention to Tony.

Feeling more than a little ignored and hating it, Tony interjects, more loudly this time, “I’m in physics club, too. President, actually.”

Barnes shuts his eyes and grips the bridge of his nose. “ _What_ , Stark?”

Tony licks his lips, perking up under the sudden attention. “Just saying, I’m president of the physics club.”

“Yeah?”  His tone might suggest interest if he didn’t force a sneer. “Who else is on your geek squad?”

“Shut up, Bucky,” Steve snaps, jumping up onto his feet. Barnes – or Bucky, as Steve had let slip – tilts his head back to stare at him. His expression’s gone slack with surprise.

“Bucky?” Tony snorts. He shoves a pen into his mouth before his words can get him into trouble.

“ _Everyone_ needs to shut up,” Clint stresses, ignoring the tension between Bucky and Steve. “I’ve got a meet next Saturday and I won’t miss it because you can’t keep your damn mouths shut.”

Seemingly pulled from his reverie, Bucky swallows and leans over to stare past Steve’s broad shoulders. “I can imagine the pain that would cause you.”

“Don’t pretend you know how I feel, faggot!”

Steve turns his head and sits back down slowly, mechanically. Bucky’s eyes linger a little too long, a hint of concern behind the mask he wears so well.

Clint panics. “Shit, Steve. I didn’t mean it like that, I just –”

“Oh, you didn’t mean it as an insult, just a friendly little joke, huh?” Bucky cuts in. He tears his eyes away from the side of Steve’s face to narrow in on Clint. “Guess you and Rogers aren’t boning after all.”

“I’m with Bucky on this.” Tony slides his feet out to rest in the aisle. “Jokes about sexual orientation aren’t cool. I’m straight myself, but who cares if a guy likes a dick that’s not his own?”

Steve tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling’s dull lights, trying not to feel humiliated. “I’m not gay,” he informs the room, sounding tired, like he’s had this conversation a million times. “I’m bisexual. There’s a difference.”

Tony whistles. “Well, more power to ya, big boy.”

For the first time, the girl in the hood, Natasha – who’s finished carving _I’m eating my head_ into the table– makes a sound. She laughs and it’s low and husky. Clint nearly snaps his neck trying to get a peek at her.

Tony appears extremely pleased with himself.

It’s then that Bucky jumps down from the railing and starts a quiet stride towards the door, having made up his mind.

“Bucky, no,” Steve tries, but Bucky waves him off.

He snakes a hand out to smack various items off the librarian’s desk before he reaches the door. And when he does, he leans up and yanks the bolt out, forcing the door to slam shut. They all hear Sitwell’s shout of infuriated surprise. It doesn’t sound too far away, so Bucky books it back to the table he’d been at before the railing and settles down just as Sitwell barges in.

“Why is that door closed?” He looks harassed as he motions behind himself, the other hand planted firmly on his hip. He gets nothing but blank stares. “ _Why is that door closed_?” His beady eyes dart around each of the students, landing squarely on Bucky. “What happened?”

Bucky shrugs. “Couldn’t tell you, sir.”

He looks to Steve next. “Rogers, who closed that door?”

Steve feels Bucky’s eyes on the back of his head. “No one, sir. It just sort of, uh, shut. On its own.”

“Screw must’ve fallen out,” Bucky adds. The chair creaks with his weight when he leans forward. “It happens sometimes.”

“Give me the screw, Barnes.”

Bucky’s innocent face is very convincing. “I don’t have it.”

“Barnes,” Sitwell warns.

“With all due respect, sir,” Steve starts, the first to come to Bucky’s defense for no apparent reason. “Why would anyone wanna steal a screw?”

Sitwell’s attention is diverted at that. “Watch it, Boy Scout. Or you’ll find yourself here next Saturday, too.”

He turns on his heel and heads back. All eyes stay on him, observing how he picks up a small wooden chair and tries to prop the door open with it.

“Won’t work!” Bucky calls out.

Sitwell unwisely ignores him, cursing when the door pushes the chair away without issue. They all snicker quietly. Even Natasha can’t mask her amusement.

“Rogers, Barton – Get over here!”

Sitwell forces Steve and Clint to move a bookcase in front of the door, which traps Steve outside. Bucky has to bite his knuckle to keep from chuckling with something almost _affectionate_ when Steve slips trying to get back inside.

“What if there’s a fire, sir?” Natasha asks out of nowhere. Her voice is carefully masked, but Bucky can tell she’s mocking the vice principal. “Endangering the lives of children could get you into some serious trouble.”

Sitwell nearly chokes at that revelation. “Get back in your seats! Both of you!” he orders, ushering them to set the bookcase down as quickly as possible. “I expected more from you two!”

Clint rolls his eyes but says nothing as he and Steve retake their seats, shrugging off their near identical jackets simultaneously.

Sitwell’s face is red by the time he rounds on Bucky. “Listen to me – The next screw that falls out is gonna be you. Can you comprehend what I’m saying?”

“Suck my dick,” Bucky utters under his breath.

Steve freezes as quickly as Sitwell. The latter blinks and steps towards Bucky slowly, asks in a low tone, “What did you say?”

Bucky sits up straighter, looking Sitwell dead in the eye. “Suck my dick,” he repeats.

“You’re mine for the next two Saturdays.” When Bucky laughs, Sitwell turns even redder. “There’s another one!”

“What about the one after that?” Bucky demands. “I’ve got nothing goin’ on then, either.”

“Good, because you’re mine for five Saturdays.”

“Umm… that’s only four,” Tony corrects, attempting to be helpful. It has the opposite effect.

“Shut up!” Sitwell practically screams. Tony shrinks low down in his seat. “Are you done, Barnes?”

“No!” Bucky blurts out, unable to help himself.

“Good. Not ready to go to prison yet, huh? Maybe six detentions might prolong the inevitable.”

Unbeknownst to anyone, Bucky’s chin begins wobbles. “Maybe!”

“You just don’t know when to quit,” Sitwell spits. “That’s seven. Make my day, Barnes.”

Bucky’s eyes are bright with unshed tears and his face is hot with embarrassment and anger, but he licks his lips and readies himself for more.

“Quit it!” Steve hisses, worried blue eyes trained on Bucky’s contorted expression. Even more quietly, he pleads, “ _Stop_.”

Bucky swallows. Thinking himself triumphant, Sitwell stands up taller and smiles. “We’re done here.”

“I’m not that easy, pal.”

“Eight. I’ll keep going. Don’t think I won’t.”

Bucky bites his bottom lip. “Good for you, sir. Do your duty and keep this school from falling apart by locking away the kids you can’t handle.”

“Nine,” is all Sitwell says.

Steve buries his face in his hands, Tony bites his tongue, and Clint shuts his eyes. Natasha watches with sympathy.

That makes Bucky even angrier. “You think I give a shit?”

“That’s three months you just bought yourself. You’ll sit here every Saturday for _three months_ to think about your pathetic life, do you understand? You’re so worried about impressing your peers, it’s sad. Think you’re some big hotshot, disrespecting authority and causing more problems than you’re worth?” He shakes his head and moves to disappear into the hall, calling over his shoulder, “I hope your little tantrum was worth it.”

As the door closes behind him, Bucky grips the table with trembling hands. His face is splotchy as he screams, _“Fuck you!”_

**[8:43am]**

The group has been silent for nearly an hour now, still stewing in the intensity of Sitwell and Bucky’s argument.

Steve, with his sheet of lined paper and number 2 pencil pushed to the side, pulls out a sketchpad and drawing utensils from his backpack, setting to work on various doodles. He starts with the bookshelves and then moves on to mapping out what he can see of the distant field through the dirty window. But hanging lights soon turn into cool, lidded eyes, and clouds start resembling pouted, frowning lips. Branches become strands of unruly hair and Steve’s mood sours even further. He flips to the next page and focuses on drawing the fountain at Botholdi Park in DC.

Beside Steve, Clint plays with the archery patch on his varsity jacket, pulling at one small thread until it gets longer and eventually multiplies. He keeps his head down for the most part, twitching every once in a while in an attempt to catch site of the girl in the back.

Tony hums and tries to work on his history homework, like his father wanted, but can’t bring himself to do it. He draws terrible blueprints on the back of his worksheet instead, already lost in numbers and ideas that could contribute the AI he’s been working on since the previous summer.

Natasha keeps her hood up and her head down, flicking at the wood shavings she created earlier. She pulls out a red marker and starts coloring the new indents on the table. Her eyes flick over the rest of the group occasionally, never missing a thing.

And then there’s Bucky, sucking on a lollipop and shredding the wrapper with nimble fingers. He uses his own pencil to tap on the desk for a while before he flings it forward, flicking Steve on the back. With nothing else to do, he lights his black boot on fire with a blue lighter, stomping it out before the alarm can get triggered, and then repeats the action several more times.

Eventually, they all fall asleep.

 

**[9:19am]**

Sitwell clears his throat and stares at the spread out group of five.

“Wake up!” he shouts. The kids don’t move. “Who needs to use the restroom?”

Five hands shoot lazily into the stuffy air.

 

**[10:28am]**

Clint stands by Steve, stretching his leg over the rail as Bucky sits atop it once more, tearing out pages of a book. Tony lingers by the shelves while Natasha stays back at her table, listening to everything.

Bucky throws more pages into the air like giant pieces of confetti. Clint eyes him disapprovingly.

“Nice representation of your intelligence,” he remarks dryly.

Bucky tosses a handful of crumpled papers into Clint’s face. “What can I say? Wells really gets me going.”

“You used to like him.” It’s an offhanded comment from Steve. He stiffens when he realizes he’s said it.

Bucky runs his tongue across his white teeth, his voice flat when he questions, “Did I?”

Steve glances up through his lashes. The challenge in Bucky’s expression pulls him in. “Yeah. _The War of the Worlds_ was your favorite.”

Bucky stares at Steve, who reaches out to push the cover of the book up so he can see. Sure enough, the title reads _The War of The Worlds_. The looks they share are full of bitterness and knowing.

“I liked _The Invisible Man_ ,” Tony offers, and Bucky throws the rest of the book at the shorter boy’s head.

Choosing to ignore Bucky’s childish behavior, Clint turns to Steve, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes dart towards Natasha for only a split second, but Steve notices. He says nothing about it.

“You going to Rumlow’s party tonight?”

Steve shrugs, runs his fingertips over the lines he’d drawn earlier. “Might be grounded.”

“Might be?”

“I dunno. My dad thinks I need discipline and my mom says he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. She’d let me go, but if Dad finds out…” A breath escapes his lips and he chuckles humorlessly.  “They’ve started threatening each other with divorce. It never ends.”

“Who do you like better these days? Your mom or your dad?”

Steve’s attention settles on Bucky. “They don’t give a shit about me anymore,” he admits softly. “I’m just a way for them to get back at each other.”

Natasha lets out a loud, derisive laugh. Clint bites back a smile while Bucky narrows his eyes.

And Steve’s guard goes back up instantly. “Back off,” he tells her sternly, hard and even.

Natasha purses her lips, turns away to face the wall opposite the group. Her withdrawal makes Clint grumpy.

“Quit feeling sorry for yourself,” he tells Steve mildly.

“I’m not. I just –”

Clint’s snort interrupts Steve’s explanation. It stirs something deep within Bucky, makes him angry.

“Hey, lughead.” He slides off the rail, sidles up to Clint, and stares down at him coolly. “You get along with your folks?”

“If I say yes, I’m an idiot, right?”

Bucky smirks and tilts his head. “You’re an idiot anyway. But if you say yes, you’re a liar, too.”

Clint shoves at Bucky’s shoulder, making him sway. “You think you’re so tough. I’d like to see you go one round with me.”

In response, Bucky raises his hand and silently gives Clint the finger. Tony jumps between them before they can get close enough to start throwing punches.

“Enough with this alpha male bullshit. I don’t like my parents either! They’re… well they could use some lessons in compassion.”

“Stark,” Bucky huffs out, exasperated. “You’re exactly what every parent would wish for.”

Something flashes over Tony’s face. He tries hard to school his expression even as he mutters, bitterly, “Not _my_ parents.”

Bucky gives him a look that’s half appraising and half cautious. He figures it’s best not to ask any questions though, so he says instead, “Don’t worry, you’ll grow into another mindless drone for the in-crowd soon enough. That’s something _anyone_ would be proud of. Just ask Steve.” Bucky steps around Tony and Clint to get to Steve, who is resolutely ignoring him by staring straight ahead. Bucky drops himself onto the edge of the table, blocking his view. “Real nice kid and look at him now. Such a people pleaser. Even after everything he did to get noticed, he still can’t meet his own eyes in the mirror.”

With his gaze away from Bucky’s body, Steve raises his middle finger steadily, mirroring the gesture Bucky showed Clint just moments ago. It earns him a cheeky grin.

“You can tell me to fuck off, y’know. Or are you scared I’ll tell you to do the same, Mr. Virgin?” Steve’s eyes cut into him like daggers. “Here I was thinking you were having the time of your life with all these people – Barton, Wilson, _Carter_. But you’re the one who’s afraid.”

“Afraid of _what_?” Steve demands heatedly.

“Afraid of yourself.”

Steve’s lips part in shock and his eyes roam over Bucky’s face with something desperate shining through. Bucky’s eyebrows knit together.

“Or maybe that’s not it,” he backtracks. “Maybe you’re saving yourself? Honeymoon in France like you always wanted…”

Steve blinks slowly and tilts his head down, pressing his parted lips tightly together. Bucky continues to stare like there’s nothing more fascinating in the room.

“So, I’m getting the distinct feeling you two know each other,” Tony quips.

Clint looks on thoughtfully before he adds, “That’s enough, Barnes. Get outta his face.”

“Steve can take care of himself.”

“I said that’s enough. Shut up or I’ll make you.”

Bucky reluctantly slides of the table and inches his way back over to Clint. There’s something dangerous in his eyes. “You think you can, tough guy? Or do you need to call for some backup?”

Clint sniffs haughtily, shakes his head. “No. Just you, me, and two hits. Me hitting you and you hitting the floor.”

“Just try it.”

For a flash of a moment, Clint looks nervous. Maybe even regretful. But neither of the angry boys gets to do anything because Tony puts himself in their path _again_.

A door opens in an instant, startling them apart. A cleaning cart rolls through, pushed by a short, old fellow with a white mustache and a cheery smile.

“Tony Stark! What’re you doing in detention, young man?”

Tony lets out a heavy breath and looks away.

“And is that you, Steve Rogers, or are my eyes really that bad?”

Bucky snorts. “Don’t worry, Stan. That’s definitely Steve.”

Stan the Janitor’s eyes settle on where the last voice came from. “Oh! Bucky?” He clucks his tongue. “Why does Sitwell have you in here this time? And who else… Clint Barton? And –” He smiles even more softly at Natasha, who’s looking straight at him with a gentle smile of her own. “Natasha!” She gives him a wave. Steve, Clint, and Tony all share looks made up of raised brows and slight frowns.

“I hope you aren’t causing any more trouble. I’d hate to see you waste another Saturday locked inside this musty old place.”

Bucky ignores the pointed look Steve turns to give him.

“Well,” Stan continues. “That clock’s twenty minutes fast, I think. Excelsior!” And then he pushes his cart slowly away, disappearing out the heavy doors with his whistled tune echoing behind him, drowned out by the groans of four unhappy students.

Bucky simply grins.

 

**[11:35am]**

Bucky starts whistling _Back in Black_ after a while, when he gets too bored to do anything else, and Tony doesn’t hesitate to chime in, followed by Steve, Barton, and then finally Natasha. When Sitwell appears in the doorway, everyone but Bucky quiets down. He goes from AC/DC to Beethoven’s 5 th, biting down on his lip when Sitwell narrows his dark eyes from behind his glasses.

“Thirty-five minutes for lunch,” he informs them.

“In here?” Tony questions. “Shouldn’t we go to the cafeteria? The place specifically designed for food consumption?”

Steve chews on his thumb to hide an amused smirk.

“In _here_.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Shitwell?” Bucky pauses when he hears Clint snort a laugh and then try to cover it up by coughing. He clears his throat. “Can we get something to drink?”

“Yeah, our mouths are pretty dry,” Tony agrees.

It’s Natasha who teases, “You wouldn’t want us to dehydrate, sir. That’s inhumane.”

“I get dehydrated real easy.” Steve’s face is so empathetic as he leans back, no one could disagree with him.

“Oh, but don’t worry about it, sir. I’ll get him something –”

“Grab some wood, Barnes!”

Bucky, who had started to stand, pauses to laugh incredulously. “ _Oh_ ,” he murmurs lowly, feigning a suggestive tone as he situates himself back into his seat.

Sitwell rolls his eyes. “You,” he says, a finger pointed at Clint. “And you.” He gestures towards Natasha. “Vending machine in the teacher’s lounge. You’ve got five minutes.”

_ _ _ _ _

Clint sighs as he strides down the hallway, head turning repeatedly every few seconds to get a real look at Natasha’s face. The black around her eyes and the red on her lips feels like a mask to him. She watches carefully, hardly blinking.

“What’s your poison?” he asks and then, just to clarify, “What do you drink?”

She doesn’t answer. He coughs awkwardly and faces forward once more, trying to take interest in the cheesy motivational posters that are plastered all over the walls.

“Vodka,” she says suddenly, low and clear.

Clint startles. “Vodka? When do you drink vodka?”

“All the time.” Her smirk is very alluring.

His brows shoot up and his eyes fill with surprise. “Is that why you’re here today?” When all she does is stare, he asks again, pryingly, “Is it?”

“Why are _you_ here today?” she evades.

Clint swallows and slows to a stop, turning so he can press his back against the wall. Natasha stands in front of him, arms held loosely around her stomach.

“I screwed up, did some stupid shit. Sitwell said he wouldn’t put it on my record if I spent my time here today.” He lets out a sigh. “I get treated differently ‘cause of who I am, what I can do. I’m a winner. Not because I wanna be, I – just because I’m good at something… ‘cause I’ve got the skills that get you noticed. So I’m here to keep myself on track for college.”

It’s more than that, he knows. Judging by the way Natasha’s eyeing him, she knows, too.

“That’s interesting,” she states without emotion. “How about the rest of it?”

Clint inhales deeply and shakes his head. “Forget it.”

_ _ _ _ _

Back in the library, Bucky sits on a corner table, legs crossed and a book in his lap, but his attention is on Tony, who sits lazily beside him. Steve safely stands a few feet away, resting up against an oddly shaped statue.

“Hey, Stark. What do you do in physics club?”

“Uh, talk about physics?”

“Is that it?”

Tony straightens at Bucky’s challenging expression. “We go to my house sometimes. Hang out. That sort of thing.”

Bucky sticks out his legs, dangling one over the edge so his charred boot can scuff the floor. “Stark Mansion. You raid your daddy’s liquor cabinet?” Tony’s pause and nervous swallow piques Bucky’s interest. He gives a fake gasp. “Seriously?”

“Bucky, just leave him alone,” Steve grunts out. “ _Christ_.”

“Alright, doll face. What should we talk about instead?”

“Nothing,” Steve offers with finality.

Bucky hums. “Let’s talk about this very interesting book I’m reading…” he trails as he flips the cover to read the title. He makes an ‘ _ah’_ sound. “Introduction to Sexual Education. Perfect for you, Stevie. Stark might even learn a few things.”

Tony scoffs. “I don’t need _introductions_. I’m way past that.”

Bucky’s laugh sounds far more genuine, like he’s truly amused. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Still chuckling, Bucky hands the book out to Steve. “Guess you won’t have to share after all.”

Steve’s whole demeanor suggests he’s entirely fed up. “Why’re you so obsessed with other people’s sexual endeavors?”

Bucky practically squeaks, which makes Steve’s lips twitch despite himself. “Sexual endeavors. How cute. And to answer your question, I’m only trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help. I can get by on my own.”

Those words mean more than they should and they’re the cause for Bucky’s face turning serious in a way he doesn’t try to mask. Whatever Steve sees in those once familiar eyes, it makes him look away first.

_ _ _ _ _

They’re all back in their seats by the time Clint and Natasha return with armfuls of coke cans, signaling that they can finally start lunch.

Steve plops a brown lunch bag onto the table, opening it to stick his hand inside. As he does, Clint grabs his own larger bag and starts pulling out item after item – chips, several sandwiches, fruit, milk, and french-fries.

Tony stares at Natasha’s food, one eye closed as if he can examine it better that way. She catches him looking.

“Vatrushka,” she tells him.

Tony shrugs. “Don’t know what that is.”

“Russian pastry,” Bucky comments idly. Then he curls two fingers around Steve’s shoulder and pulls back just a little, eyeing the two containers, one which is filled with fruit and the other with melted chocolate. Steve sneaks a look at Bucky’s confused face, his own expression matching.

“Fondue?”

“Fondue,” Steve reiterates. “Mom’s trying something different.” Steve chews his lip and notes that Bucky has no food. “You, uh… want some?”

Though he shakes his head, it isn’t very convincing, so he gets up to move before Steve can offer him a strawberry, seating himself down beside Tony and his red and gold tin lunchbox. He opens it without permission and begins to display the various items, narrating as he goes.

“Blueberries, vanilla pudding, PB & J with the crusts cut off, chocolate milk… Did your nanny make this for you? Or maybe it was Mr. Rogers. Not your dad, Stevie, though I wouldn’t be surprised.” He stands back up and heads to the aisle, leaning on the statue. “How does a typical day go for you, Stark? I’m really curious. You take an elevator up to your dad’s office for some quality time? Learn the trade that got him so rich? Weapon’s manufacturing, right? You bond over the wars you don’t have to fight in?”

“No,” Stark bites out, a little choked up. His brown eyes are wet but he doesn’t look away from Bucky.

“Don’t act like you know any of us, Barnes. You don’t. And if you’re not gonna enlighten us about your life then keep your opinions about everyone else to yourself.”

Bucky bends over to catch a seated Clint’s glare. “You wanna know about _my_ life? Not much to say. I can tell you what Alexander thinks of me – stupid, no good, spineless, son of a bitch, faggot. Mindless, disrespectful, arrogant, waste of space. And then –” He slams a gloved fist into the palm of his other hand, making Tony flinch.

“Bucky…” Steve’s lips part, unsure of what to say. “Are you being serious?”

Steve sounds so worried, it makes Bucky’s chest clench. He rubs roughly at his nose and turns away, forcing a noise of disbelief.

“You want visual confirmation? Drop by some time.”

“I don’t believe you,” Clint tells the room loudly. “I think you’re full of shit.”

Bucky’s face morphs into something utterly broken. Even so, he tries his best to keep his voice from wavering. “You don’t believe me?”

“No, I don’t.”

Bucky rolls up the sleeve of his left arm and shows off an array faded and raised lines, scars that still seem red and angry. Steve jolts forward, staring down at the pale skin with wide, sorrowful eyes and hovering hands that beg to, but don’t dare, touch. Bucky exhales. “What about now?”

He pulls away before Clint can answer, turns sharply and rushes away from the group, muttering about how he doesn’t need to sit with a bunch of _fucking punks_ anymore. He swipes all of the books and maps off of a small counter and jumps onto it, yanking himself over the staircase rail to sit alone in the raised loft area above.

Steve’s voice is hushed and pained when he reprimands Clint. “Why’d you have to say that?”

Clint doesn’t know.

 

**[11:51]**

Bucky listens at the door, waiting for Sitwell to disappear around the corner once he leaves his cluttered office. When Bucky hears nothing but silence, he slowly begins to sneak down the hall with Steve at his side and Clint and Tony right behind. Natasha, as always, hangs back as she follows.

“How do you know where Sitwell went?” Steve questions, looking down at Bucky as they progress towards the lockers.

“I don’t.”

Steve scrunches up his face. “So you don’t know when he’ll be back.”

Bucky offers a small smile when he says, “Nope,” making sure to pop the _p_.

Steve sighs and shoves his hands into his jean pockets, watching his sneakered feet pass over the checkered floor.

“What’s in his locker? I’m thinking something illegal,” Tony attempts to whisper, careful not to step on the backs of Steve’s shoes.

Clint crosses his arms, muttering an agreement.

“Big bag of weed?”

“Better not be.”

As it turns out, the prize isn’t a _big_ bag of weed, but a small one.

“Bucky, what the hell?” Steve strains.

“S’not mine.”

“Then who’s is it?”

“Rumlow’s.”

Steve and Tony gape.

Clint scoffs.  “ _You’re_ friends with Rumlow?”

“Not friends. Neighbors.”

And with that, Bucky starts forward again, immediately inspiring Steve to follow. Tony goes next, leaving Clint and Natasha to stare at each other.

“You think this is a good idea?” he asks her. All she does is raise a perfectly manicured brow. He grunts and spins on his heel.

They move through the school, trying to stay out of Sitwell’s sight in their attempt to get back to the library. Bucky and Clint argue about which way to go, the latter forcing his way forward, calling for everyone to follow.

They’re met with a gate.

“Shit!” Tony whispers harshly, hands clamping around metal.

Bucky glares at Clint. “You idiot!”

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck _you_!” Steve retorts, clearly angry. “We should’ve listened to Bucky. And now we’re all screwed!”

Taking a long look at Steve and then the rest of the group, Bucky shakes his head. His deep inhale is met with inquisitive gazes.

“Not we,” he corrects. “Me. Just get back to the library. And keep this…”

Bucky shoves the bag of weed into Tony’s pants, making him snort a laugh. And then he runs off, stomping his boots against the ground and slamming his fist against the lockers, singing loudly as he goes.

“ _Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American way? Who vows to fight like a man for what’s right night and day? Who will campaign door-to-door for America? Carry the flag shore to shore for America? From Hoboken to Spokane! The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan!”_

Steve stares after him with barely concealed admiration. The echoed song, one that Steve had grown up singing obnoxiously, being blurted out through Bucky’s lips makes him feel something insistent and jarring deep in his gut.

_ _ _ _ _

“ _We can’t ignore there’s a threat and a war we must win! Who’ll hang a noose on the goose-stepping goons from Berlin? Who will redeem, head the call for America? Who’ll rise or fall, give his all for America? Who’s here to prove that we can?_ ” Bucky continues to shout as he crashes into the gym, ignoring the UNDER MAINTENANCE signs tacked to the wall. Then, with a cracking voice, he screams as loudly as he can, “ _The Star-Spangled man with a Plan!_ ”

He picks up an idle basketball and makes the perfect shot just as Sitwell stomps in.

“What the hell are you doing? What is this?” Sitwell points to the door. “Out, Barnes! Get out right now!”

Bucky fakes throwing the ball at Sitwell’s head, throws it behind himself instead so it lands in the section of the gym that’s taped off. The walls and the floors are covered in dried green paint and purple feathers. Bucky still doesn’t know the story behind it.

“Move!” Sitwell shrieks.

Bucky does.

_ _ _ _ _

Steve, Clint, Natasha, and Tony are all in their respective seats when Bucky and Sitwell rush into the library. Bucky goes to grab his things – blue coat, brown backpack, the other leather glove he’d taken off earlier in the day.

“I’m sure you’re all very sorry that Mr. Barnes has to leave your presence,” Sitwell mocks. “He just can’t control himself. And that’s why he’s going into isolation. A practice he’ll need for the future.”

“It’s so good of you to think about my future, sir.”

Sitwell grips Bucky’s bicep so hard, he winces. “Everything’s a joke to you. It’s real funny that you live here, isn’t it? That you skip class to sleep under the bleachers? What about the week before, with the fire alarm? And last month…” He chuckles darkly while shame bubbles under Bucky’s hard skin. “You started that fight, broke one student’s arm and another’s nose, and what was your excuse? Because they were defacing the mural out front?”

Steve can’t help turning around, a shocked expression on his face. Bucky licks his lips nervously and looks nowhere but the floor.

“Yeah, _right_. Keep wasting away. If you manage to make it to graduation, it’ll be for nothing. But you know what? In five years, when you’re rotting away in prison like the dirty degenerate you are, I’ll come visit you. But not because I care. Just because I like to know I’m _right_.” Bucky flinches when Sitwell gets in his face. “You gonna cry, Barnes?” He laughs at Bucky’s tight jaw and pursed lips. “Let’s go.”

Bucky jumps to his feet as soon as Sitwell slaps a hand against his shoulder, shoving him off violently. “Don’t fucking touch me, you shithead!”

He nearly runs out of the room, leaving a path of fluttering papers and a harried Sitwell in his wake.

 

**[12:32pm]**

There’s a stretch of shocked silence before Steve stands, fingers tight around his belt loops, and places himself at the edge of the table. Clint stares at his sad expression.

“Sitwell’s out of line,” Steve murmurs to the floor. “I gotta tell Fury.”

“You think Barnes wants you tattling for him?” Tony queries. “I don’t see that going over to well. For anyone.”

“Yeah? So? The right thing to do is tell someone. Sitwell shouldn’t talk to him like that.”

“If he said those things to anyone else, would you care, Rogers?” Natasha asks quietly from her corner. “Or is it just because you pity him?”

Steve glares. “I care about him.”

Natasha’s surprised expression is just an act. “Do you? That’s not what he told me.”

“And what’re you two? Best friends?”

She gives him a mysterious smile. “Like you and him used to be?”

“You and Barnes used to be friends? _Good_ friends?” Tony looks like he can’t believe it.

Whatever Steve’s about to say, he gets cut off by a shouted curse and a terrible crash. Four heads swivel around to find Bucky scrambling to his feet, having fallen from the ceiling, with a pained expression on his face.

“What?” he snaps, but something like a smirk starts spreading over his cherry-red lips. “I forgot my book.”

In the distance, they hear a muffled yell. “What in the world?! What was that?!”

Footsteps get closer and closer so Steve sits down, startling and then immediately trying to calm himself when Bucky dives under the table to settle between his legs.

“What the hell was that noise?” Sitwell demands as he emerges, shirt untucked and toilet paper stuck to his shoe.

“Noise?” Natasha wonders innocently.

“Yes, _noise!_ That _ruckus!_ ”

Tony raises a hand unnecessarily to ask cheekily, “Could you describe the ruckus, sir?”

“Watch your mouth, Stark. I’ve got your father’s direct line on speed dial!”

As Tony sits back, clamping his mouth shut, Bucky bangs his head against the underside of the table. To mask the noise, Clint slams his fist down. Steve follows his lead.

Sitwell looks like he might burst. “ _What_ is going on? What are all these noises?”

“Sir,” Steve starts to say evenly, though he falters a moment when he feels hands pushing his knees farther apart. “There wasn’t any n-noise –!”

Steve can feel Bucky’s cheek pressing against one thigh and fingertips grazing the other, trailing up, up, _up_. He chokes on a shocked gasp when he feels a warm hand press over his crotch and instinctively clamps his knees together, squeezing Bucky’s arm and head, not to mention trapping the hand on that _very_ distracting place. Steve starts coughing to cover up his own gasp as well as Bucky’s hiss of pain.

And then everyone starts coughing, unsure of what’s going on but somehow unwilling to let one of their own get caught by the terrible vice principal, their shared enemy.

Sitwell looks like he might scream. “I don’t know what you idiots think you’re trying to pull, but I _will_ catch you next time. You better believe, _I will_.”

Natasha laughs, not even bothering to stop when Sitwell points menacingly at her.

Clint and Tony join Natasha in on her giggling when Sitwell slams the door behind him, but Steve is less than amused. He lets his knees part to release Bucky, proceeding to yank him up none too gently with a steely look on his face. Bucky tries and almost succeeds in looking innocent.

“Dammit, Bucky!”

“It was right in my face! What were you expecting me to do?”

“Gee, I dunno – _not_ grope me?”

Barnes shrugs his shoulders like the fact that he was touching and _causing_ Steve’s clothed half-erection is no big deal, though his thundering heart and surge of arousal would beg to differ. He pushes the right sleeve of his shirt up his arm, leaving the left one down, and turns towards Tony with a raised brow and an outstretched hand. “Hey, T-man,” he says with a twist of his lips, curling his fingers several times to indicate that he wants something handed over.

“Oh –” Tony shoves his hand into his faded pants and pulls out the bag of weed, handing it over unceremoniously. Bucky gives him a winning smile and then swaggers farther into the library, grabbing every ounce of attention whether he means to or not.

“Hey!” Clint shouts. “You’re not getting wasted in here, burnout!”

When he remains largely ignored, Clint turns to Steve, a look that says _do something_ clear as day. But Steve shocks them all when he bites down on his lip and shrugs unworriedly. He stands and quietly follows Bucky to the corner he’d settled in.

Tony goes next, not even hesitating, leaving Clint to curse under his breath for all of 22 seconds before he’s jogging towards the back, too. Natasha’s interest is truly piqued.

Steve and Bucky are next to each other, with Tony sitting cross-legged in front by the time Clint heads over. He motions that he wants some and when Bucky hands it over, he disappears in a side room to smoke by himself.

Bucky hands a joint and a spare red lighter to Tony, using the blue one from earlier to light the one stuck between Steve’s pink lips. His own jay is already being enjoyed.

Steve starts coughing immediately and Tony giggles as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. Steve, the good sport, looks incredibly amused. Bucky, on the other hand, looks vulnerably tender.

Closing in on 10 minutes later, Clint finally emerges from a smoke-filled room and puts on a show for his small audience. He does flips and cartwheels, jumps over railings and rolls across the floor, mimes shooting arrow after arrow. He doesn’t even smile, just looks so concentrated, so into his own world, that they all have to wonder, even as they giggle with joy, what Clint would be like if he chose how to live his own life.

Clint is delighted when they clap and cheer for him.

“Where’d you learn that?” Tony wonders, his voice full of awe.

He shrugs, mumbles, “I was in the circus for a while,” and then jumps over to one of the several couches a few feet away. Tony is way too interested to stay where he’s at, so he joins Clint comfortably on the couch, like the two had been doing this for years.

“So… Clint Barton was a famous carnie, huh?”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Not _famous_. Just…”

“Hey,” Tony interrupts. “Gimme your wallet.”

Clint makes a face. “Why? Gimme yours!”

Tony shrugs and reaches into his pocket, but his fingers clasp around empty space. That’s when Natasha makes her presence known.

“He’s got a very convincing fake ID, three credit cards, a napkin covered in equations, a gift card to Randy’s Donuts, and a picture of him and Pepper Potts at an arcade.” Clint stares at Natasha face while Tony stares at the pilfered wallet in her hands. “And his middle name is Edward, if you were wondering.”

“Hey, can I have that back now? _Thanks_.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and tosses the wallet into his lap, settling herself into the space beside him, watching as Tony and Clint exchange belongings. Clint toys with the leather and the objects inside, though his eyes linger on Natasha’s face and then her red tote.

“What about you?” he asks. “You carry that thing around everywhere you go. What’s in it?”

She thinks about the question for only a moment and then chooses to flip her bag upside down to allow the contents to spill out across the spot between her and Tony. Both boys look surprised to see the amount of junk that piles up. With just a simple glance, Tony can make out various clothing items, makeup, several pocket knives, notebooks, a handful of tech devices, two wallets, and an array of items that appear to be stolen, including Bucky’s sunglasses.

“Wow…”

_ _ _ _ _

On the other side of the library, tucked away in an even quieter corner, sits Bucky and Steve with their joints long gone and their focus on nosing through each other’s backpacks. Bucky is careful with Steve’s sketchbooks, sets them aside so as not to get them rumpled. He pulls out and unfolds a leather jacket instead. It’s big and brown and worn, with a line of red, white, and blue stars sewn into the breast pocket. There are matching wing pins on both arms.

“Why don’t you wear this more often?” he asks, real interest shining through his tone. He catches sight of Steve looking up as he holds onto a case of Bucky’s CD’s.

Steve shrugs. “Guess I don’t think it suits me very well.”

“Put it on.”

Steve drops the case of CD’s and reaches for the jacket, shrugging it on over his plain t-shirt. Bucky smiles a little when Steve holds out his arms and quirks a brow, the question of ‘ _how do I look’_ or maybe ‘ _what do you think’_ drifting silently between them.

“I think its way better than that old letterman.”

Bucky feels a little too warm when Steve smiles, soft and sincere, just for him.

_ _ _ _ _

“Why do you have so much shit in your bag?”

“I like to be prepared,” she answers quietly, her expression sardonic. “It’s a good habit to get into.”

“Wait –” Tony shifts. “Prepared for what?”

“For a quick escape.”

Clint laughs. “What, you’re gonna run away?”

Natasha’s smirk slips from her lips, turning into a frown. Absently, she crosses her arms over her chest, creating a barrier between them. “I’ll do what I have to.”

Clint looks at her strangely. “Why do you have to do anything?”

Natasha swallows and looks away, nervous for the first time that any of them can tell. “My home life is… unsatisfying.”

“Who’s isn’t?” Tony grumbles.

Clint ignores him, leans forward to make Natasha see him. “How?”

She opens her mouth, tongue pressed against her teeth, but the words are too vulnerable for her to be able to say. She shakes her head instead, stands, not even bothering to try and stop her belongings from rolling onto the floor. “Never mind.”

“Natasha –”

“Forget it! Leave me alone.”

She tries to get away, to hide between the bookshelves, but Clint follows her like a shadow.

“You can’t just drop that on someone and expect them not to question it. Where would you go if you left home?”

“ _Go away_ ,” Natasha grits out dangerously.

“Where do you want me to go?” The rawness in Clint’s voice makes her blood boil.

“Anywhere but here!”

Clint starts to turn away, just like she asked him to, and that’s the final straw. She can’t contain the sound of her sniffling as she cries.

“You have problems,” she croaks out.

“ _I_ have problems?”

“You do everything everybody ever tells you, Barton! _That’s_ a problem.”

“Yeah, well at least I didn’t invite people into _my_ problems! So what is it? Why’re you packed up every second of the day? Is it really that bad?”

When Natasha sees the sincere worry on Barton’s face, her anger drains out, leaving warm tears to streak down her cheeks. Her lips tremble and she nods.

Thinking back toward Bucky’s confession earlier that day, Clint asks, voice as quiet as a whisper, “Is it your parents?”

Natasha nods again.

A shaky breath falls from Clint’s lips. “What do they do to you?”

“They ignore me.”

Natasha’s devastation makes Clint’s heart break for her.

 

**[1:57pm]**

“I don’t want a million dollars.”

“Come on, Steve. Play along for once.”

Steve huffs and leans back against the wall, but his smile can’t be hidden. “Fine. Uh… no. I don’t think I’d come to school naked for any amount of money.”

“I already have a million dollars,” Tony declares. “But I’d totally come to school naked.”

“Me too,” Natasha adds slyly.

Clint looks shocked. “You would?”

“Yeah. Not even for the money. Just because.”

Steve crosses his arms, feeling a little ganged up on. “Really?”

She hums her assent. “I’ve done worse.”

“Like what?” Steve challenges.

Tony can’t help his curiosity. “You mean… sexual stuff?”

She nods.

Steve shakes his head. “Bullshit.”

Bucky watches without saying a word.

“I’m a nymphomaniac. Ask my psychiatrist.”

“No way,” Clint breathes, hands digging into his thighs. “What’s the treatment for that?”

“There’s not a lot of talking involved… just grunting. And some bruising.”

“Are you implying you’re _screwing_ your psychiatrist?” Tony shouts in surprise.

“You’re under age, Natasha,” Steve informs her, as if she didn’t know. “I don’t wanna judge you, but that’s – and he’s an adult!”

“I don’t mind. His wife probably would, though.”

“Oh my god,” Steve utters, unable to keep his disgust at bay. “How could you do that? Don’t you have any morals?”

Natasha’s amusement isn’t so high anymore, is being replaced by that defensive mask she always wears. “Well, what about you, boy scout? You ever _done it_?”

Steve crosses his stretched-out legs at the ankle and rubs at his mouth. “Why does it always come down to this? Who cares about sex?”

Bucky’s eyes flash with immature delight. “Obviously not you, big guy.”

Steve gives him a heated scowl. “Have you ever heard the word _privacy_?”

An exaggerated _‘oooing’_ sound forces its way out of Bucky’s throat. “So you _have_ done it, you just don’t wanna talk about it.” Steve looks away evasively, causing Bucky to guffaw. “Or you _haven’t_. Which is it?”

“Yeah,” Clint suddenly agrees. “Have you or have you not had sex, Rogers?”

“I’m pretty curious, too.”

“You still a blushing virgin, Stevie?”

“Nah. You and Carter way back when, huh?”

“What about you and Wilson?”

Steve, feeling bombarded, tries to stop them, but no one listens.

“I think he’s just a tease,” Bucky says lowly. “He likes the attention.”

Tony shakes his head fervently. “He’s a prude!”

“Shut up,” Steve snaps. “I’m not a tease. I’m not a prude. I’m not anything!” His glare turns from Bucky to Natasha. “And what about you, huh? It doesn’t bother you to sleep around? Don’t you care about love or respect?”

Bucky’s mouth falls open, a mixture of shock and revelation.

Natasha looks smug. “I don’t screw to get respect. That’s the difference between you and me.”

Sickened, Steve slowly shakes his head. “That’s not the only difference.”

“You’re making this way more complicated than it needs to be. If you’re not a tease or a prude, then what are you? ‘Cause you have to be _something_ –”

 “I haven’t slept with anyone, you fucker!” Steve shouts, losing his ever-present composure. Everyone falls silent. Even Bucky. “God…”

“I haven’t either,” Natasha offers, obvious empathy on her face and in her voice. Steve looks at her with confusion. “I’m not a nymphomaniac. I’m a compulsive liar.”

Steve looks utterly betrayed. “You know, somehow, I’m not surprised! I bet you can’t even tell the difference between a lie and the truth anymore. That’s why you have no friends. No one wants to be around someone they can’t trust.”

Natasha shakes her head. “The truth is a matter of circumstance. It’s not all things to all people all the time.”

Steve grumbles. “That’s a tough way to live.”

Clint kicks Steve’s foot roughly. “You’re just mad ‘cause she got you to admit something you’re ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed! Why should I be? What’s the matter with wanting to wait?”

“Nothing really,” Bucky admits. “But sex is sex, so what’re you waiting _for_?”

“The right partner,” Steve confesses, and his eyes are nothing but honest as they stare into Bucky’s soul.

When Natasha sees Clint and Tony eyeing the two in their private moment, she decides to interrupt. “I’d do it, if I had someone. If I was in love.”

Her gentle tone catches Steve’s attention. “Why didn’t you just say that earlier instead of spewing all those lies?”

“Yeah, I mean… you’re kinda bizarre,” Tony admits, though not unkindly.

Clint scrunches up his face. “We’re all bizarre. What’s your point?”

Bucky laughs. “How are _you_ bizarre?”

Clint flicks his gaze down to his hands, unsure of what to say, so Natasha answers. The fact that she does only serves to prove her point.

“He can’t think for himself.”

Clint nods sadly. “She’s right. You guys know what I did to get in here? I, uh… I dumped paint and feathers all over Bruce Banner.”

Tony’s lips part in shock. “That was you?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Clint confirms, ashamed. “You know him?”

Tony’s wide brown eyes turn hard and angry, but his voice stays even. “Yeah. I know him.”

Clint senses the shift in mood. He sighs. “I’d been hanging out with Loki for a couple of weeks. He’s… he gets in your head, you know? Makes you feel like you’re a king if you do what he says. And… and it’s just like my granddad, too. He’s always talking about the things he used to do with his friends, how they had such good times and ran the school. It’s just a constant thing. I can’t escape it – home or here. I have to be just as good as him and I have to be just as cool as Loki and just as right as Steve. So I’d been hanging out with him and he’s got this beef with Banner, I dunno why, and he’s calling him a freak and a beast and all that shit. And Banner said something to him one day – said he was as crazy as a bag of cats. And Loki just… he got so mad, it was scary. And he turns to me and he asks for some help on this prank. I knew it wasn’t gonna be something like shoving him in a locker or tripping him in the cafeteria. This was gonna be big and I agreed to it.

“So we stayed after school and rigged up a bunch of green paint and feathers, knowing he’s got gym first period, right? And then the next morning, we followed him inside and cut the rope. And he…” Clint’s voice starts to crack and his face clearly displays his painful regret. “It wasn’t paint, it was superglue and green die, and those feathers got so stuck on him… and he cried. He cried and I’d never felt more like shit in my entire life.”

The group is silent and tearful, watching Clint unravel as he tells his terrible tale.

“Sitwell knows my granddad, so they do each other favors. He kept what I did to Banner off my record and only put down vandalism, like the fucking gym was more important than a person! And while I spend one stupid Saturday here, Banner’s still at home, too scared and humiliated to even step outside. How is that fair? It isn’t. _It’s not_. I hate my granddad and I hate Loki and I fucking hate myself because I should’ve known better! I should’ve –”

Clint scrubs at his face furiously, making it even redder as he tries to erase the tears. Steve’s got a hand on his forehead, shielding his eyes and the emotions within them from view, while Bucky keeps his chin tucked to his chest. Tony’s body shakes with his silent cries.

Natasha wants to reach out to Clint but doesn’t. He wishes she would.

“I – I know what that’s like,” Tony stutters, shutting his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. “To hate yourself. I know how that feels.”

Steve doesn’t say it, but he knows, too.

“Why?” Natasha breathes. “Why do you hate yourself?”

“I’m stupid. I’m not good enough. I’m – I blew off this big assignment so I could work on a personal project. And I get it was wrong. I know grades are important, but so is what I’m doing. I’m… experimenting with artificial intelligence, you know? I’d built this robot – I call him Dum-E – and like his name suggests, he’s kinda dumb, so I figured I’d build something smarter. An AI. And I got so caught up in it, I forgot about this stupid shit we were doing for English, even though it’s unfairly worth like half the grade. I didn’t turn in anything and my dad got called. I thought he’d chew me out a little, ask me what the hell I thought I was doing, but that he’d be proud when he saw what I managed on my own with JARVIS – the AI.” Tony shakes his head and begins to cry again. “He called me a defective human being. Asked how I could have such a high IQ if I was such an idiot. Demanded to know why I couldn’t be more like _Steve Rogers._ ” He sneers. “God, he thinks you’re fucking perfect, Steve. All he ever talks about is you and how you must be some rare form of genius for all that you do – the art, the sports, the good grades. I mean, no offence, but you’re not building fucking robots and planning a business that focuses on revitalizing the definition of clean energy, so why’re you so special? Why doesn’t Howard give a shit about me?”

“Tony…”

He shakes his head furiously at Steve. “So I failed the assignment and it’s gonna bring me down to a B. Howard and Maria can’t have a B. Are you kidding? They can’t. And I can’t live with that disappointment anymore… So I’m here because I had whiskey in my bag and a gun in my locker.”

The room turns cold in that second, making the kids absolutely freeze, various degrees of shock showcased on their features.

“What was the gun for?”

Tony sniffles. “What do you think, Rogers?”

“Tony. Tony, look at me,” Steve demands. He reaches out to put his hands on thin shoulders. “Suicide is not an option.”

“I didn’t do it, did I? And I don’t need your judgment.”

“I’m not judging you. I know what –” He stops himself, uncomfortable with what he might or might not admit.

“What?” Bucky cuts in. He’s angry, too. “What do you know, Steve? You know what worthless feels like? You used to, yeah, but how could you now? You’ve got fucking everything you always wanted! You don’t know what it feels like to wanna end it, so don’t act like you do! What’s the worst of your problems, huh? Your parents, on the verge of divorce? Well, boo-fucking-hoo! At least they take an interest in you. At least you fucking have parents at all!”

“Is this a game to you?” Steve demands, voice tight and pained. “Who’s got it worse off and you’re keeping score. Are you in the lead because you hate yourself more than the rest of us?”

“All you guys are disgusting, you know that?” Bucky spits, curling his knees towards his chest. “Stark’s loaded but doesn’t even appreciate it ‘cause daddy doesn’t love him! Barton, you piece of shit – you cause your own damn problems and then have the _nerve_ to feel sorry for yourself. And Steve… oh, Stevie, gimme a break. You’re so full of self-righteous bullshit, you can’t even see straight!”

“You’re a selfish prick, Barnes!” Barton shouts. “Who the hell do you think you are? You haven’t got an ounce of compassion in your entire fucked up being!”

“Why do you care what I think, anyway? I’m _nothing_ , remember?”

Clint blanches as the hateful words he’d blurted out earlier come back to haunt him.

“No one would care if I disappeared, _right_? I might as well not even _exist_ here!”

The room falls silent once again, still cold despite the heated words echoing through their minds. Several minutes pass before Tony’s gathered himself enough to speak.

“Are we gonna be like our parents?”

They all look up, confused and stunned.

“It’s unavoidable,” Natasha murmurs. “It just happens.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“When you grow up, your heart dies.”

Bucky snuffles at her words. “Who cares?”

She stares at him with tearful eyes and states, brokenly, “I care.”

They all do.

_ _ _ _ _

“I guess I should ask, I mean…” Tony starts. “What happens on Monday, when we’re all together again? You guys are – I consider you my friends. Don’t make this the one thing I’m wrong about.”

Steve shakes his head vehemently. “You’re not wrong.”

“Okay, so… what happens?”

“I don’t know,” Clint answers honestly.

Tony tries again, turning to Steve. “If I come up to you Monday, with Banner and Ross and Foster, and we ask to sit with you at lunch, would you let us?”

“I would.”

“Oh, _yeah_.” Bucky shakes his head. “I’d like to see that.”

“I _would_ ,” Steve stresses. “What about you? If I wanted to walk with you down the hall, would you let me? Or would you keep acting like I’m the worst thing you’d ever seen?” Bucky opens his mouth, no doubt to argue heatedly, but Steve cuts him off. “I know the answer. You’d tell me to get lost, Bucky. Probably make fun of me to all your friends when they wonder why we’re talking. You wouldn’t welcome any of us with open arms _ever_. You won’t even accept us right now!”

“Oh, fuck you! Don’t bullshit me, you son of a bitch! If Tony asked to sit with you at lunch, you’d turn him down! You know you would! And me? If you came up to me, it’d be to spit in my face!”

“Liar!” Steve shouts.

“It’s the truth! You’d drop each one of us as soon as the next best thing came along!”

“What are you talking about?”

Bucky slams his fist into the floor, making the group flinch and wince. “ _You_ _know_! It was s’posed to be me and you, Steve. Till the end of the line. But as soon as you grew a few inches and started packing on the muscle, I wasn’t good enough for you anymore! You needed Peggy Carter and then fucking Clint Barton and Sam Wilson… You didn’t need _me_! You didn’t give a _damn_ about me!”

“That’s not true!” Steve argues, letting the tears fall freely. “Pierce hated me. He wouldn’t let me talk to you!”

“What about at school? He wasn’t there to stop you!” Bucky’s crying now, too. “I needed you, Steve! I needed you and _you weren’t there_! So don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same to Tony. That you wouldn’t leave him or Natasha high and dry for Sam or Sharon or even that shit-prick Rumlow! And you know what? Don’t bother coming up to me in the halls on Monday. You’re four years too late.”

Steve grips his own shoulder tight and buries his face in the crook of his elbow.

Tony, Clint, and Natasha look away from the heartbreaking scene, keeping their eyes on each other instead. Tony looks completely disheartened.

“Would you blow me off in front of your friends?” he asks.

Natasha smiles grimly. “I don’t have any friends. But no. I wouldn’t.”

“Well, I wouldn’t either. Just so you know. I wouldn’t and I _won’t_.”

There’s a pause where Tony’s words burrow themselves deep into their sad hearts and muddled minds, making them all think twice about their actions and the reasoning behind them.

Then, “Hey, you know what I did to get in here?”

“What?”

Natasha’s smirk is back. “Nothing. I didn’t have anything better to do.”

Despite it all, each one of them laughs – until their sides ache and their cheeks burn and they forget about all the crap they’ve just poured over each other.

 

**[2:55pm]**

Tony has an undeniable obsession with 80’s music. So of course, when he heads into the librarian’s office, he puts an awful 80’s CD into the drive of the computer and cranks the volume up high.

He wiggles his hips and shakes out his arms, prompting everyone to start dancing along with him at once.

Clint climbs up onto the statue, kicking his feet and punching the air like a madman. His facial expressions make Natasha laugh while she spins on her toes and moves suspiciously like a ballerina.

Steve is somehow both clumsy and graceful, so he chooses to stay mostly in a confined area. He throws his head back, eyes closed, tongue stuck between his lips, upper body swaying rhythmically when he gets lost in the music.

Bucky, who is undoubtedly the best dancer, goes all out. His feet move rapidly and his arms swirl around, his longer hair swishing with the rapid twists of his head.

It’s all strange and beautiful and _fun_.

They gravitate towards each other eventually, moving together; jumping and twirling and snapping fingers and clapping until they get close enough for elbows to smack into faces and ribs. They adapt to each other and sync up, bodies shimmying and nearly convulsing with the power of their youthful joviality.

Bucky, Tony, and Clint hop onto the table together while Natasha attempts to teach Steve how to pirouette. He can almost do it, but not quite, so she spins him – straight into Bucky as Tony shoves him off the table. The two stare at each other, laughing excitedly, and then Bucky grabs Steve and they run, weaving around each in perfect harmony. Clint heaves Tony over his shoulder and follows Bucky and Steve, shouting cheers that get drowned out by the music. Natasha cackles and wiggles to the floor as the song fades to an end.

 

**[3:15pm]**

“We should start a club,” Tony mumbles from the ground, turning over to rest on his elbows. He peers at each of the other four in their little group, watching as, one-by-one, they mirror his position.

“A club?” Bucky asks, lips pouting in thought.

Tony nods. “Yeah. A club for kids with fucked-up parents.”

Clint’s laugh is refreshingly carefree as he entertains the idea. “What would we do in this club?”

“I dunno… whatever we did today. But with less arguing. The objective is to prove we can be more than how they see us.”

Steve gazes at the bookshelves in contemplation as he nods. “It’d be like our own brand of vengeance.”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers, eyelids drooping. “It would.”

 

**[3:30pm]**

Four students sit on the counter side-by-side to watch Bucky climb back up through the air vent he crashed through earlier, all feeling a little something like loss as he vanishes. Natasha, who’s sitting between Clint and Steve, leans over to poke Tony.

“Are you gonna write your paper?”

He groans. “Can’t afford not to.”

“Maybe you could write one for all of us? You’re the genius, after all.”

Clint backs her up. “Yeah, I mean… we’d all pretty much say the same thing at this point.”

Natasha gives him a private grin. It doesn’t bypass Steve.

Tony stares into space pensively for a long moment, snapping back to reality only to grin impishly. “Sure,” he concedes. “And I’ll tell you what I wrote on Monday.”

It’s a hopeful assumption. They each nod to let him know he’s welcome to do just that.

“Hey, Nat,” Steve says then, hopping back onto his feet. He jerks his head towards the side room when she looks at him and she doesn’t hesitate to follow. When the door is safely closed behind them, Steve starts; “If you’re as interested in Clint as he is in you, then you should know a few things.”

She stares at him attentively.

“He doesn’t have a car, but his granddad lets him use the van sometimes. He’s deaf in one ear, doesn’t like wrestling as much as he pretends to, loves his dog more than anything, and has an unhealthy obsession with arrows. You think you can handle that?”

Natasha laughs. Steve thinks he’d like to hear it more, hopes he will.

“Yeah… Steve. Yeah.”

_ _ _ _ _

Tony’s already working on the paper when they exit back into the main room. Natasha makes a beeline for Clint, who seems to be waiting for her, and Steve makes his way quietly to the closet he knows Bucky locked himself back up in.

As Natasha passes by Tony, she hesitates, staring down at him until he looks up. She’s redone her makeup, the black around her eyes lessened and the red of her lips turned into a more neutral pink. Her hair is pulled back, too, showcasing her porcelain face. Tony grins and gives her thumbs up. She won’t ever admit to blushing.

“Hi,” Clint says lamely when she finally stops in front of him, closer than he’d been expecting.

“Hi,” she replies with a chuckle. Her smile is sweet and beautiful.

_ _ _ _ _

Bucky looks up when the door opens, expecting to see Sitwell. Instead, he’s met with a wide-eyed Steve. He raises a brow and leans back against the cabinets, licking his lips when Steve slips inside to lean against the closed door.

“You lost?” he drawls.

“No,” Steve replies, voice even lower than usual. His breath hitches but his confidence doesn’t falter. “I’m exactly where I wanna be.”

Bucky’s lips stretch into a slow, sunny smile. Steve can’t remember the last time he’d seen such an expression on Bucky’s handsome face. All he knows is that he’s missed it terribly and he’ll do anything to never have to be without it again.

Steve takes a deep breath and steps closer, prompting Bucky to stand. He reaches out to place his long, warm fingers underneath Bucky’s chiseled jaw, tipping his chin up. The heavy look in Bucky’s eyes as Steve leans in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth is something truly magnificent.

Bucky swallows, amazed. “Why’d you do that?”

Steve’s chest vibrates with a deep hum. He pulls back just enough to allow his gaze to roam over every inch of Bucky’s face. “Because I knew you wouldn’t.”

Bucky chuckles breathlessly. “You were always the brave one…” Then, a little louder, “Hey, you know how you said your parents use you to get back at each other? Well, wouldn’t I be the perfect revenge?”

Steve has to bite his lip to stop from smirking. “My mom always liked you, Buck.” Bucky’s eyes flutter. “And besides, using you to get back at them is just as bad as what they’re doing to me. But maybe you could – you could be my right partner?”

Bucky can’t bring himself to make this into a joke. “Yeah,” he says instead, digging his fingers into Steve’s leather jacket. “I’d like that.”

 

**[4:00pm]**

Tony sets the finished paper proudly in the center of the table for Sitwell to find after they leave. Clint and Natasha wait for him to gather his things before they head out into the hall together, meeting Steve and Bucky on the way. Gentle gazes and sincere, appreciative smiles are passed between them as they walk towards the front doors, ready to head home.

They find Stan the Janitor on the way and offer him a series of peaceful goodbyes.

Bucky clasps Stan on the shoulder in passing and grins. “See you next Saturday,” he promises. He gets a fond shake of Stan’s head in return.

Outside, in the crisp air, Howard Stark’s Mercedes is parked in the front, still glistening in the beginnings of the afternoon light. Before Tony can slip inside, he turns to give a small wave over his shoulder. His spirits are immediately lifted by the four waves he receives in return.

Behind the Mercedes sits the little black car that had lurched away earlier that morning before Natasha could say goodbye to the driver. The memory doesn’t hurt so badly, not now that she’s got Clint walking her forward, his green sweatshirt tied around her shoulders. They share a long look and then a long kiss, with Clint’s hand cupping her jaw and Natasha’s fingers curling over his shoulders. When he pulls back to look at her, his eyes are dazed and he’s more than smitten by the time she rips the archery badge right off his letterman jacket, pressing it to her chest with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

Her car drives off just as Clint’s granddad sticks his head out the van window, eyes wide and curious because of the sight he just saw. Clint offers him nothing and turns towards the door so he can keep his smile in place.

Steve drags his feet on the trek towards his father’s blue truck and Bucky moves with him, so in sync that you’d never guess they’d fallen out of it. He reaches up to his leather jacket, pulling the wing pin from his left arm when they stop. Bucky watches, mesmerized as Steve grabs his hand and places the silver wing in his palm, feels the pressure of Steve’s fingertips on the outside of his glove when he’s guided to close a fist around the precious object now in his possession.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to crowd Steve against the car and steal a kiss that tastes of chocolate. It’s long and open and everything they’ve both wanted for years. He buries his face in Steve’s neck after they pull apart and is allowed to stay there for a wonderful moment, soaking up that familiar warmth and breathing in a hint of cologne mixed with Irish Spring soap, Steve’s hand tangled in his hair.

It’s only when Steve slips into the car and gets driven away that Bucky places the pin securely on the left sleeve of his favorite blue jacket.

And as he walks, the last one to leave the school grounds, headed to a broken home with a sweet smile on his lips and in his eyes, he feels scared and eager to know what might happen Monday. He wonders if he’ll hang out in the parking lot with Natasha or if he’ll tag along with Tony to physics club or if he’ll go out for pizza with Clint after school. Will he walk down the hallway with Steve or share fondue at lunch or stay up at night talking to the best guy he’s ever known without giving a damn that Alexander might slap the shit out of him in the morning? God, he hopes so.

He wonders if anything will change, even as Sitwell picks up the sheet of paper back inside the messy library, reading the assured words that Tony wrote on their behalf.

Come Monday, and every day after, they’ll find out that one fateful Saturday spent locked up in the confines of SHIELD High School has altered their lives forever. It’ll be the best thing they’ll ever know.

It already is.

+++++

_Dear Mr. Sitwell,_

_We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice our Saturday by spending it in detention. We know what we did was wrong. But you’re crazy for making us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us, in the simplest of terms and most convenient definitions. How can you claim to know us when we’re just starting to figure it out ourselves? But to satisfy your dire need to label everything around you, we’ll tell you what we found out today. That each one of us is: a brain… an athlete… a basket case… a boy scout… and a criminal. Is that good enough for you?_

_Sincerely yours,_

_The Avengers_

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much just a replica of The Breakfast Club. Oh my god, i'm so ashamed. This just took me over... I mean, a couple days ago I was rewatching it and I just had to do a Stucky au. But really... it's not very in character? Let me just say that Steve and Bucky could've easily become the basket case and the brain, respectively. Like... pre-serum Steve would've been Allison and pre-war Bucky would've been Brian in this story. I almost did it, too. But I didn't. So Bucky is more post-winter soldier here, but with extreme teen angst and a horrible potty mouth; I had to make him Bender, which then led to me making Steve Claire. The thing is, though, I don't really like Claire, so I tried to make Steve more sympathetic without turning him into a saint. He's wrong sometimes and he knows it and he's very self-righteous. And then there's Clint, ugh. I made him Andy; a jerk at first, but sort of sad and kind of goofy in the end. This doesn't really jive with Clint's personality, I guess, but it sort of fits with how he was in the Avengers. Also, Tony isn't as /Tony/ as I'd hoped. But I couldn't write him like he was in TBWBHOS because this is completely different. But nerdy Tony has the potential to become a suave billionaire and does in the future, so there! 
> 
>  
> 
> Some things I was thinking while writing (ahem, blatantly ripping of TBC):
> 
> \+ I made Sitwell the vice principal and a jerk because his ties with HYDRA make me angry. Also, Alexander Pierce is Bucky's stepfather and is completely abusive, physically and emotionally. I had a line in there about Bucky admitting he also tells him things like how he "a gift" and that he wouldn't be able to get by without him, but I cut it and never found a place to put it back. If I wasn't so lazy, I'm sure I could drop it in somewhere.
> 
> \+ Shout-out to Stan the Janitor!
> 
> \+ I have to reference AC/DC in everything, apparently? But I was so pleased I got to work in Star-Spangled Man with a Plan. Ah, yes. Though I kept the song they dance to the same as the one in the film (We Are Not Alone - Karla Devito). 
> 
> \+ So, clarification on Steve and Bucky's relationship, if you care to know. They grew up together, with Steve being picked on and Bucky being utterly devoted (and in love, okay), but then Steve had a growth spurt the summer before high school, started working out so he wouldn't be a beanpole, and started hanging out with Peggy. Bucky, who was already feeling like crap due to his mother remarrying Pierce the year before, is also very jealous. So he withdrawals and gets "replaced" by Clint and also eventually Sam. The point is that Bucky blamed Steve for their failed friendship and Steve blamed Bucky, but in reality they were both in the wrong. So they spent four years being bitter and avoiding each other.
> 
> \+ My thoughts on Bucky as I was writing him is that, much like Bender, he's just a lot of talk. As I put in the fic, some of Bucky's offenses include; skipping class to sleep under the bleachers, pulling the fire alarm, and beating up a few guys that were trying to grafitti over the mural (and I hope it was obvious how I hinted that Steve painted that mural, that's why Bucky even cared - but if it wasn't obvious then, it is now). Steve got detention for knocking out Schmidt for being a jerk, fyi.
> 
> \+ I find dialogue heavy pieces hard to write because I become repetitive. I went back over this several times, trying to add more descriptions and details, but I failed. 
> 
> \+ There's some background with Steve and Tony, too. Howard is friends with Joseph, so he knows Steve and dotes on him, wishing Steve was his son instead of Tony. I thought about putting a line in where Steve tells Tony that the next time Steve sees Howard, he'll tell him to fuck off, but it didn't make the cut (it was something I thought of in the shower anyway, so that's probably for the best).
> 
> \+ Oh, and I had this whole thought about Natasha breaking into the gym after hours sometimes to practice martial arts and Clint would catch her and develop this huge crush. I'm not sure that would be considered "canon" for this story, though it might explain why he's so interested in staring at her.
> 
> \+ Because I'm trash, I tried to add in a bunch of little Marvel things, like Loki influencing Clint, Bucky's blue jacket and the wing, Bruce and green paint, JARVIS, Fury as principal, Tony's lunchbox being red and gold, Tony's line about a cheap trick and a one liner, end of the line, (the fountain from my other story), Natasha's line about truth, Steve's right partner and fondue, and then some comic Clint stuff. 
> 
> \+ Sincerely yours, The Avengers. I couldn't stop myself. I'm sorry.
> 
> Also, title from "Don't You (Forget About Me)" by Simple Minds.
> 
> I hope you could enjoy this a little? I mean, if you liked The Breakfast Club you'll probably like this since it's pretty much the same. Oh well.


End file.
